


histoire alternate (happy endings are all alike)

by frogfarm



Series: Jean Dies At the End [3]
Category: X-Men (Original Timeline Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bechdel Test Fail, Cheating, Crack Treated Seriously, Dirty Talk, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hands, Loss of Virginity, Multi, Mutant Powers, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Skin Hunger, Telepathic Sex, Telepathy, The Author Regrets Nothing, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 16:33:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17491427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogfarm/pseuds/frogfarm
Summary: Jean and Rogue shared a moment. It's become something of an obsession.Alternate sequel toeven in vegas. Way less angst, more romantic comedy, far more sex. Rogue POV.Unlikehistoire restante, mostly ignores the events of X2 and 3.





	1. Chapter 1

Most teenage girls have a hard enough time dealing with their own issues. Let alone anyone else's.

So.

Take those problems, and everything else. The good and the bad, the sum total of whatever intangibles that make a person who they are. Put all of that inside your head, right along with your own developing and immature self, and you already have a recipe for catastrophe. Add in the fact that this person -- a mutant who kidnapped you in furtherance of his evil scheme for world domination, in an act of revenge against the human race -- is a gay man in his late sixties who has definitely, as they say, been around the block a few times. Now sprinkle on top yet another personality; also male, rabidly heterosexual, of indeterminate age but likely two, even three times as old as the first unwanted occupant. Except this one belongs to someone for whom you already had just a bit of a crush, even before he literally became a part of your soul. Meanwhile, back in the world outside your head, said second person not only sees you as a kid sister to be protected but spends most of his time well away from your new home, exploring his own haunted past that lies shrouded in mystery. And the crowning glory, of course, is the problem that caused almost all of these other ones in the first place: Your own mutated DNA, expressing itself in potentially lethal form for anyone who dares come in contact with your bare skin, absorbing the very essence of their life.

Marie can't bring herself to call it a power. By every definition, it's nothing but a curse.

Not to say things haven't improved since the day it first manifested. Running away from home after nearly killing your first boyfriend with a kiss might have seemed like a good idea at the time, but it didn't take long to realize she'd only gone from bad to worse. Her attempt to repeat that same mistake had ended with Erik Lensherr himself taking her prisoner, forcing his power upon her to fuel a machine that would forcibly mutate all _homo sapiens_ within its radius. Only Logan's timely intervention atop the Statue of Liberty had saved Marie and most of New York City, albeit at the cost of giving her a second internal companion who seemed determined to stick around for life. Thank God poor Cody is but an echo, relegated to the rare and random whisp of thought or emotion. The real Erik had gone off to a plastic prison, leaving only the ghost inside her to offer snide comments on Logan's integrity, whisper occasional subversive remarks at just the right moment. Mostly though, he keeps his mouth shut.

That suits Marie just fine. She's actually starting to settle in at Xavier's Academy for Gifted Youngsters, making friends her own age for the first time since leaving home. Besides, how many kids can say they live in an actual mansion without sounding spoiled rotten? Her parents had been contacted the week of Magneto's sentencing, leading to a tearful visit and their extremely reluctant but mutual decision that this seemed like a positive environment for their daughter, considering her situation. Another word she scoffs at, as much as calling her abilities _powers_. A situation is something you can get out of. This is just life. Her life.

All of which contributes mightily to her current philosophy of taking what joy she can find from it. Both of the men who now share her mental space have a wealth of knowledge and experience for her to draw upon, often unconsciously until later reflecting on events. With their collective accumulated years of hard-earned wisdom at her disposal, Marie knows with absolute clarity, as no teenager has ever known, all the things she shouldn't do and never wants to; not ever, not with a gun to her head. All of which nonetheless leaves her with a mountain of history to explore, as well as immeasurable caverns and tunnels beneath. Logan and Erik have few secrets from her, but those they keep are locked away tight, resistant to prying and cajoling alike.

"You know you have a tell, right?"

"What?" Kitty's frown is visible over a handful of cards, if only in the contraction of her eyebrows. "No way. What is it?"

"Well, I don't want to make you all self-conscious." Marie contemplates the dishful of pennies with a calculating squint. "Raise you five."

Kitty winces at the sound of coins hitting metal. "You're supposed to teach me, not fleece me."

"For a few dollars more?" Marie grins, resisting the urge to chomp down on a phantom cigar. "It's not even up to one."

"I've seen this movie before." Kitty's complaint sounds good-natured enough. "It always ends with someone dressed in a barrel, trudging over the hill to the poorhouse."

Marie does her best imitation of casual. "Trade you chores."

"Fat chance." Kitty lets out an exaggerated exhale of exasperation. "Fine. Call."

"Then prepare to read 'em and weep."

"I knew it!" Kitty draws back her hand full of cards with a frustrated glare before sighing and tossing them on the bed.

"Aw, come on now." Marie shakes her head as she gathers up her winnings. "If you ain't gonna fold --"

A knock on the door interrupts this advice. Marie's in the middle of saying _Come in_ when Kitty throws a pillow at her head. Her tongue automatically sticks out, freezing as the door swings open.

"I'm sorry." Jean Grey surveys the scattered cards and coins, the pillow on the floor. Her look of assessment is further underscored by her white lab coat and glasses, auburn hair coiled up in a businesslike bun. It all serves to make the clipboard in her hand seem superfluous.

"I didn't realize I was interrupting anything..." Jean's pause is pregnant, her deadpan sarcasm light as a feather. "Clearly vital."

"Probably for the best." Kitty sends a side glance at Marie, who quickly retracts her tongue with a cough. "What's up?"

"Oh --" Jean clears her throat. "Just being more efficient than usual. Marie, your checkup is scheduled for next week --"

"Right," Marie confirms, with a slightly puzzled frown.

"But it would really help me out if I could move you up and do that today." Jean glances back and forth between them, wearing an air of skepticism. "Especially if it looks like we have to separate you two."

"Just for the rest of the afternoon." Kitty waves her hand and turns to gather up the remnants of the game. "Go on. Get outta here, ya rogue."

"You make it sound like a bad thing." Marie smiles to show no hard feelings. Still, the unfocused flicker of concern is enough to cast a shadow over her thoughts as she pulls her gloves back on. She reflexively checks herself from head to toe before standing, waiting for Jean to move well and safely aside before walking out the door.

Somehow she manages to keep silent all the way down the hall, into the elevator that leads straight to the underground chambers and tunnels, including the medical facility. But when the doors close, she can no longer help herself.

"Is everything okay?" 

"What? I mean --" Jean's confusion is quickly erased. "No, honey. Everything's fine."

"You're sure?" Marie tries not to sound pitiful. It doesn't help that she's on the far side of the elevator, a spacious one with wheelchair access. Pressed against the wall, she probably looks like she's being threatened with a beating.

"Sorry." She forces herself to stand up straight, squaring her shoulders as she recalls the full extent of this woman's own abilities. "I remember what you told me. And I still believe you."

"That's good." Jean nods as the doors slide open, again allowing Marie to exit ahead of her.

The older woman remains silent as they approach the examination room. Try as she might, Marie can't help remembering what had transpired the last time she'd been here. She hates the very idea of not taking this woman at her word, of thinking the telepath would ever dream of violating her privacy. And yet for all her supposed trust, when the chips come down, she's just as bad as anyone else. The more she tries to put it from her mind the more those forbidden images latch on, consuming her thoughts in a whirling gyre of obscenity. 

"Please -- try to relax." The doctor's gentle voice is tinged with a hint of amusement. "This really is just a checkup. But it's kind of obvious where your concerns might be heading."

Marie doesn't realize she's been holding her breath until it comes out in a shaky laugh. "Guess I'm kinda transparent, huh?"

"Take your time." Jean smiles as she places a gown on the exam table. Then she turns and walks behind the privacy screen in the corner, leaving Marie with the room to herself.

"You don't have to --" Marie falls silent, fumbling with the button on her jeans. Thankfully Jean doesn't respond as she makes short work of the rest and pulls on the gown. She can hear the snap of latex from the other side of the screen, sparking an unaccountable flurry of naughty notions. 

"I'm all set." She hoists herself up on the table and it's so much like the last time, the first time _her_ first time that Marie nearly swoons from the rush of blood to all those sensitive intimate places.

"Marie --" Jean breaks off, putting one hand to her forehead. "Please. This is hard enough without --"

"I'm tryin'," Marie snaps. Her head falls in shame, even as she sneaks another sideways glance at those fabulous legs. It doesn't help that the doc's chosen to wear heels today.

Jean clears her throat, cheeks slightly pink. "I take it he's still making his presence known."

"Well, yeah. Sort of." Marie watches as Jean prepares the syringe; weighing how much to say, and why. "But...it ain't just him."

"Oh?" Jean frowns. Then her mouth opens, as comprehension slowly dawns. "Oh." 

"Yeah." With all her heart, Marie prays for a happy outcome. 

Jean at least rewards her with a smile, if an uncertain one. "You could have told me after I drew blood."

"You got a steady hand, darlin'." And Marie has to laugh, even as she feels the flame of her own blush rising in her cheeks. At least it's not as bad as it would have been that first time. Enough integration of these two outside personalities into her own, develop some sense of style, and she might actually be said to have game.

Thankfully, Logan's prediction is true; Marie barely notices the needle going in, the slight dizziness of two vials worth that soon passes. The rest of the standard routine is almost identical to every other such visit in all of her own untouched memory, concluding quickly and without incident. Jean pulls up her rolling chair and takes a seat.

"Well, that's the physical part of the physical." Marie doesn't miss the troubled tone in the doctor's voice. "Mostly."

It takes a moment longer for her to suss out all of the implications. "Oh."

"Your mom said you had your first gynecological exam at -- fourteen?" Jean doesn't bother to consult her clipboard. "No reason for any followup, until now. And only because you're supposed to have a basic one every year after you turn eighteen --"

"And that was last year," Marie confirms. The dizzy sensation is threatening to make a glorious comeback. "I...kind of see your problem."

"Yes." Jean's gravity doesn't border on sorrow, but it's definitely leaning that direction. "Your skin, really, it's...hardly an issue, with standard precautions. But --"

Marie nods, feeling her heart quicken. "Is this what they call a...conflict of professional interest?"

"This is what they call a flagrant breach of professional ethics." Jean meets her eyes with frank and open seriousness. "If not a violation of the criminal code, depending on your jurisdiction."

Marie swallows, and Jean's gaze softens.

"Believe me. I'm not trying to scare you into keeping quiet --"

"You don't have to --" But Marie falls silent, as Jean holds up her hand.

"I just think there are some things I shouldn't be doing for you." A wry smile, followed by a half-shrug. "And honestly -- I'm not really qualified in this area. Which is why I'd rather have you see a specialist."

Marie processes this. She finds herself alternately relieved and disappointed. "So what are your qualifications?"

"Nothing special. Just a general doctor of medicine." Jean sounds as if this is no more praiseworthy than crossing the street. "Though I did minor in mental health."

"Makes sense." Marie mulls this over, startled from her concentration when Jean scoots her chair a little closer.

"And along those lines --" Jean looks hopeful, and just a little nervous. "How are you doing?"

"Good." She frowns and thinks it over a moment, then meets Jean's gaze with a nod. "Yeah. I'm good."

Jean smiles. Still, Marie can tell her concerns haven't been fully addressed.

"I..." She has to remind herself that if anyone knows how she feels, it's this woman. "I miss him. The real one."

Jean nods in understanding, even as the internal snort causes Marie to laugh out loud.

"Yeah, you're chopped liver. Get over it." She rolls her eyes at Jean. "He's such a drama queen sometimes."

Jean breaks into a chuckle. "Worse than Erik?"

Marie can't help a wince at the blistering reaction. "Oh, he didn't like that."

"Too bad." Something in Jean's smile is hard, a spark of flint in her gaze. Then it's gone, leaving nothing behind but warmth and compassion.

"Logan should be back before your birthday." The retreat into more professional demeanor makes it seem as though Jean is clinically observing her, gauging her reactions. "And as far as that particular aspect of your mental health -- how's the one on the inside treating you?"

"He's quieter than he used to be." Marie shrugs. "Mostly."

Another amused smile from Jean. "I'm sure there are times he finds it impossible to remain silent."

Marie's snort only serves as confirmation.

"And speaking of your other..." Jean muses over her choice of words. "Permanent passenger?"

"Erik's all right." Marie's smile is weary beyond her years. "For a while, he kept asking why I didn't join up with him."

Jean looks back at her, silent and expectant. Marie can feel her own expression turning hard, almost cruel. 

"He stopped asking."

Jean reaches over and takes her hand. Marie returns the pressure, grateful for the gesture even as she despises the necessary artificial barrier keeping them from full contact.

"You already know Charles is a man you can trust. But seeing him through Erik's perceptions must have been..." Apparently, tact triumphs over candor. "Very enlightening."

Marie blushes and nods. Thankfully, Jean doesn't pursue this.

"Anything else? Health concerns of any kind -- physical or mental?"

She's this close to saying _no_ when she looks back up into Jean's eyes. Suddenly, for one blissful and horrifying moment, Marie pictures herself leaning forward and planting a slow, hungry kiss on that full and luscious mouth.

Making her dream come true.

Her gaze falls again to her bare feet, dangling far enough off the floor. Bad enough both Logans are always calling her _kid_. 

"I have been thinkin'." She swallows, feeling the conversation as a physical line she's about to cross. A point of no return. "About...last time."

A quiet exhalation, as Jean's hand remains steady on hers. "You're not the only one."

"That's the problem," Marie whispers, as though they're under observation. "I can't talk to anyone else."

"You can talk to me." Jean squeezes, firm and reassuring. "You can always talk to me."

"I...guess I didn't want to look like I was sniffin' around for another taste. You know." Marie can't help a blush at her own spicy rhetoric, looking up from the corner of one eye. "Tryin' to talk you into it."

"Trust me." Jean's rueful smile is somewhat abashed. "You wouldn't have to say very much."

Marie swallows again as the full meaning of that statement begins to sink in. Hard enough it had been to deal with her own feelings for Logan, only able to achieve some sort of release by utilizing Jean as a proxy. And yet despite her own more or less total prior straightness, the masculine origin of her strange and unnatural attraction, Marie has been finding it harder every day to deny her growing and outright lust for the gorgeous older woman who gently, lovingly and enthusiastically relieved her of her maidenhood in every way but the physical. It's a bit of a shock to think those feelings might be reciprocated, but it only stirs up more memories of that first encounter: The touch of another upon her skin, with nothing in between.

Being told she was beautiful.

"I've been doing some research." Jean's voice brings Marie back from her reverie. "Some of this I already knew, but of course there's been more studies since I went to school. About the biological response to human contact."

"Yeah?" Marie quashes the butterfly in her stomach.

"Babies that grow up without anyone holding them -- they end up physically stunted, not just emotionally. Our bodies respond to touch. They need it." Jean looks very grim indeed. "All kinds of hormonal changes take place, and that's just the tip of the iceberg. And I have no idea if my simulation is close enough to the real thing. Or if there might be some subtle difference -- something it doesn't have, that it can never have -- that might cause long-term problems we have no way of predicting."

The chill in Marie's stomach is worse than the flutter. For the first time in months, she's on the verge of tears.

"All I can say is -- thank God your power didn't manifest until adolescence, or you might not have survived until then." Jean reconsiders. "No -- your mom might not have survived the pregnancy."

"Damn." At least the shock, however theoretical, brings Marie out of her funk a bit. Nothing like imagining all the ways your life could be worse.

"But by the same token." And Jean looks more serious than ever. "Worst case scenario. Say you never find a way to get around your powers --"

"Some powers." Marie cuts short her bitter rebuttal. Jean doesn't bat an eye.

"And in that case..." Jean pauses. "Maybe it would be better to have some kind of outlet...than none at all."

It doesn't quite vanquish the cloud of gloom still looming over the landscape of her thoughts, but it does serve as a jumping-off point for brainstorming all the various workarounds they can think of. At one point Jean remembers a time when she served as a conduit between two other people -- sort of a relay -- and extrapolating from that is enough to form a hypothesis that it might indeed be possible for her to mentally join Logan and Marie in their own private 'world'. The hardest part would be keeping herself shielded, considering the intense emotions and mental energy involved.

"Well -- it'd be nice to have you there too." Marie manages a bashful smile. "And not just for my sake."

"We're trying to keep me more faithful to my husband, not less."

"I know." Marie can feel her face fall despite the kindly tone in Jean's voice. "And I feel so guilty every time I remember. I like Scott, I really do. It's not like I'm _tryin'_ to convince you to cheat on him --"

"I believe you." Jean's quiet interruption is nonetheless forceful enough to cause Marie to fall silent. "And I appreciate that. But I don't ever want you to feel like you can't come to me -- with _any_ concerns you might have." Her hand is warm on Marie's shoulder even through the thin layer of latex. "Okay?"

Marie can only nod, her eyes bright and brimming with conviction.

"Okay."


	2. Chapter 2

It takes a few days to feel like she's regaining some equilibrium, however minor. It's another week before Jean vets a gynecologist for her, a stunning woman with a Latvian name and Nigerian features who asks all the expected questions without batting an eye, pokes and prods and penetrates Marie in a reasonably gentle manner before pronouncing her in good health. Erik and Logan continue to offer the odd bit of advice on relationships and other problems; most of it unwanted, half of it inapplicable or counter-productive.

She tells Erik at one point that if he's going to school her on anything, it should be math.

_I will not help you cheat._

The tone of his mental 'voice' is stiffer than usual. It takes a moment for her to realize he actually sounds offended.

 _Is that why you got all up in a snit? About me and Jean?_ A smile creeps over her lips at the thought. _Didn't realize you were such a traditionalist._

An exasperated sigh fills her head.

 _It may have escaped your notice, young lady. But I don't like being here any more than you enjoy having me._ The equivalent of a disgruntled throat being cleared. Marie can almost picture Magneto in a grey pinstripe suit, attempting to recover some dignity by straightening his lapels.

 _Should have thought of that before you went and laid hands on me._ She can't help the glint of vicious satisfaction. It's obvious Logan doesn't approve, but he definitely understands.

 _It does seem an apropos sentence._ The cultured British accent comes through somehow even silent, tinged with unmistakable regret. _The man I once was now rots in a plastic cell, while I languish here. More free in theory, but wholly unable to direct or control my existence._

 _Yeah. Cry me a river._ Marie sighs and sits back in her chair, glaring at the open textbook on her desk. _And I'm not askin' for answers. Just help me understand. What's wrong about that?_

 _I suppose._ The eventual reply is grudging in the extreme. Marie counts her blessings, and decides not to push her luck.

As far as said relationship problems, Bobby's tentative and painfully respectful courtship lasts about as long as it takes Logan to return from his latest excursion. He watches from the lunch table as a jubilant Marie leaps up and dashes down the hall at top speed to embrace the burly figure that's just come strolling through the front door; continues to watch as she chatters away and he finishes lunch, oblivious to the other students at the table, their poorly concealed mutters and giggles.

She's just heading back, with a spring in her step and a song in her heart, when he meets her outside the cafeteria.

"So I guess you like older guys."

Marie's ready to respond with some blistering retort, or storm off in a huff. But the humor in his voice gives her pause.

"I guess so." She returns his smile, if a shade more tentative. "Friends?"

"Friends." He holds out one hand, nodding as her gloved one meets his fist in a quick bump. "And the obligatory warning that if he breaks your heart, I will find a way to kill him. No matter how long it takes."

"Deal." A mischievous thought occurs. "Kitty's single."

"I just decided I'm not going to date until after graduation." His eyes twinkle despite the serious tone. "If I make it that far, I can survive anything."

She's thinking of that conversation a few days later, when the summer heat is at its peak. Kitty's been challenging her all week to a one on one beach volleyball match, with a wider than usual net zone marked out for maximum safety. Marie had been all set to step up until her roommate revealed the rest of her plan: Namely, that the extra safety room and gorgeous weather meant they could both wear as little as they wanted. Which wasn't intended to be all that risque, except that Kitty had tossed one of her bikinis into Marie's lap with a determined glare, and the words:

"If I'm wearing one, so are you."

Marie can feel her face go hot merely inspecting the tiny scraps of fabric. She's painfully aware of the irony, given the unapologetic level of lewdness she and Jean had achieved, at least in the privacy of her mind. It doesn't help the pull and ache just below her belly, that curling tight hot longing to be filled.

"This dang thing's gonna come right off me the first good volley." She drops the so-called swimsuit like a live raccoon. "And how come that don't work the other way around?"

Kitty remains adamant. "Because you don't bounce around in front of the boys wearing an Amish potato sack."

"I dunno." Marie relishes the opportunity to retaliate, however slight. "Peter might like you better in one of those."

"Shut up." Kitty's Valley Girl intonation confirms her lack of offense. "And prepare to get your butt kicked right back to Dixie."

The match itself is chaotic and brutal, especially once John and Bobby spy them from inside and come out to investigate. Naturally the boys take up residence a few meters away, close enough for a good view without binoculars. Despite her attempt to concentrate on whipping her opponent, it's also close enough to hear John as he shakes his head.

"What a waste."

"Not a good idea." Bobby's offense is clear, his tone chill.

"Like it matters." John's smirk is an audible one. "Don't want _her_ to suck you dry --"

Bobby's ice-covered fist meets his jaw.

John tumbles back and hits the ground in a daze, even as the ball hits the ground. Kitty joins Marie in staring as Bobby lowers his hand, the frozen mass that surrounds it dissipating into the air in a cloud of vapor.

"I'm sorry." Bobby offers his hand again, helping John to his feet as the other boy covers his mouth. "That was way out of line --"

"Forget it." John's voice comes muffled through his fingers. "You weren't the only one."

"Let's go to the infirmary." Bobby throws an apologetic glance back at the girls before turning and escorting John away. Attacking another student -- with or without powers, but especially with -- is one of the most severe infractions for a student of the academy, and it's with a heavy heart that Marie watches them leave.

"Come on." Kitty holds up the ball, ready to serve. "No way I'm letting any stinky boys ruin our fun."

Reluctantly, Marie allows herself to be pulled back in. She ends up exhausted, covered in sand, and winning by a single point. Also toasted pink from sun, to the point she has to spend the next few days slathering her skin with aloe as it heals, lying awake at night trying not to scratch.

Still worth it.


	3. Chapter 3

With homework less of a concern, Marie buckles down in a determined effort to tackle the Danger Room's level Two. She'd made it through Zero and One without much fuss, apart from a stumble toward the end that left her drenched but victorious. The current scenario has been tormenting her for weeks, and to add insult to injury, thwarted her hopes of completing it before Logan's return. She imagines him watching from the control console, shaking his head at her misguided attempts.

 _I'm watching all the time._ Logan's internal monologue is heavy with casual sarcasm. _That not count or somethin'?_

 _The one out there, jackass._ Marie doesn't miss a beat as she switches hands, barely maintaining her hold. The ropes are fat, almost too big to hold on to, and coarse enough to raise bloody blisters on anyone whose grip should slip even a fraction of an inch. 

She takes a deep breath, waiting for the platform below to cease its wobbling rotation. Drops down on it in a crouch, clinging to the surface as it goes into a fresh spasm of movement, bucking like a stung bronco. Inside her jumpsuit the egg nestles against her belly, cushioned by the thin layer of fabric, leaving both hands free.

 _Not yet._ Logan is insufferably calm as ever. _Don't sweat. You still got time._

Marie ignores him as best she can. The last rope sways in front of her, barely out of reach.

 _He's right,_ Erik warns. _Wait for it. That's a girl..._

The bottom drops out from her stomach as the platform pitches her into the air, yawing underneath to further increase her disorientation. She has to get her feet back on it, something solid she can leap from before the timer expires and the rope retracts entirely, leaving her stranded. Except she's already coming down wrong, feeling her ankle twist and she barely manages to direct her fall to avoid more pain even as her heart sinks in despair. She lands hard on her belly, and the slight pop near her navel, the sudden spreading slimy sensation inside her clothes, is enough to confirm yet another agonizing defeat.

 _Don't say a word,_ she warns them both. Hanging on with grim determination as the platform slows its movements, finally coming to a stop. _Not one...word._

They don't need to say anything. Scott's patient look of understanding is more than enough, even before Hank's overly verbose and unnecessarily generous assessment. Marie nods and takes her lumps, promising to wait at least two weeks before giving it another shot. She's already looking forward to a swim, followed by a well-earned soak in the hot tub to ease her aching muscles.

Unfortunately, a group of ten younger students come into the pool room just as she's halfway through her laps. Marie's pulled up to the end, about to turn when she hears them, laughing and joking and then freezing at the sight of her. She can tell they're about to leave, and decides to save them the trouble.

"I was just about done anyway." She nods and grabs her towel, giving them a wide berth. "It's all yours."

Erik's silent disapproval is more than plain as she heads for the showers. Marie doesn't bother to inquire. Knowing the man as well as she does by now, it's probably nothing more than her failure to assert herself. Logan, on the other hand, seems uncharacteristically reluctant to speak his mind. So to speak.

 _Come on._ She imagines herself a tiny cavegirl in furs, poking a sleeping animal with a stick. _Spit it out._

He remains silent until she's done with her shower, almost finished getting dressed. She's looking at her reflection in the mirror, admiring that damn streak of white in her hair, trying not to appear overly sad, when Logan speaks up.

_Don't cut yourself off._

She waits for more. Apparently, that's all the wisdom for today.

With that in mind, she sits down to write an email to her parents, attaching a few recent pictures. Mostly how she misses them something fierce; also how a lot of the other kids are of course afraid of her, but she does have friends. _And I'm doing better in math since I got a new tutor. Old guy, but he's not so bad._ It takes some time and even more effort, given how readily she seems to need to censor herself, but that's to be expected with parents.

By the time Kitty sticks her head in to announce dinner in fifteen minutes, her appetite is near to ravenous. Tonight's a special occasion in the dining hall, a formal meal to welcome back Professor Xavier from his latest college lecture tour. Scott's been having to fend off increasing numbers of appearance requests from various institutions, in order to keep the professor's schedule at least somewhat open for the foreseeable remainder of his life. Dinner is excellent as always, most of it from local farms, and Marie gets to sit at one end of the table opposite the professor. Even if she knows it's to give the others more breathing room around her, it still makes her feel like a queen. Scott and Jean are to her left, Jean right beside her, and occasional wordless but appreciative looks and smiles being sent her way are enough to put Marie more or less back on top of the world.

She's looking forward to playing Scrabble in French with Kitty, the latest in their attempt at more creative education. But Kitty is reluctantly apologetic, saying that Bobby wants to take her skating.

"Ice skating." Marie knows she sounds skeptical. "In late July."

"Roller skating, doofus." Kitty almost punches her in the arm, pauses, then does it anyway, with exaggerated care. Marie grimaces and tugs at her shirt sleeve.

"If he ever does take you ice skating?" Marie allows herself a knowing nod. "I bet he falls more than you."

Kitty giggles, then turns and disappears through the wall, leaving Marie alone in their room. She gazes wistfully at the wallpaper, wishing as always for a nice simple, useful power like some people.

"Homework." She looks over at her desk, gesturing in the air with one finger. "Check."

 _The Scrabble was your French homework._ Erik sounds like he's working up to a good scolding.

"For both of us." She deliberately says it out loud. Erik remains silent as she walks over to the aquarium.

"Fish food." Two sprinkles, no more. "Check."

She turns away, feeling a sudden unaccountable nervous energy. It's enough to make her drop to the floor and count off twenty pushups, deliberately slowing to increase the effort in an attempt to relax. Her muscles are burning by the time she's through, reminding her of the hot tub she was supposed to be soaking in. Maybe no whirlpool jet massager, but a bath sounds just the ticket.

Some time later, the tiny room is filled with steam; the smell of lavender from her essential oils. Marie drifts through the fog, floating, back in the womb.

_Hello?_

Her eyes fly open. Her ears are still underwater, muffling the sounds of water and metal, the breath in her lungs. But that voice of that silent hail is unmistakable.

"Hey --" She spits water from her mouth, sitting back and resituating herself. _Hey._

 _Hey yourself._ The playful note doesn't conceal the underlying gravity, a hint of uncertainty. Jean's mental voice feels clearly _outside_ , lacking the warm and intimate quality of their full connection; more akin to the moment their minds first made contact. _Is this a bad time?_

Marie swallows, closing her eyes, striving for tranquility. _No._

 _Good._ The presence seems to waver, resolving into clarity. _Can we talk?_

_You know I want more'n that._

Marie's reply is painful in its honesty for her not stopping to think. She can feel hesitation on the other end, and more. For a moment there is the fear that she may have gone too far, ruined what little they already had.

 _Okay._ Jean doesn't sound resigned, or guilty. Just a simple affirmation. An assurance, and a promise.

Marie stares at the insides of her eyelids, dumbfounded. If she'd known it was that simple --

 _You sure?_ That inconvenient conscience rears its ugly head. _What about Scott?_

 _Scott is..._ An agonizing pause, that probably doesn't last more than a quarter of a second. _I don't want to say complicated -- look, can we at least do this face to face? Like last time?_

 _Sure._ Marie's response is automatic before the obvious question arises. _Uh...your place or mine?_

A chuckle, as if Jean's mood has been lightened some small degree.

_Your call. Whatever feels right._

The momentary flurry of notions threatens to scatter her every which way, until Marie remembers her training. Every student at the academy, regardless of their powers, is required to learn the basics of mentalism. Starting with control of their own mind.

Breathe in and out. Slower; repeat. Not too slow. Don't think about breathing. Ignore everything but the point.

Your focus.

"Well." Jean's voice comes from somewhere above. Moderately amused, and a little embarrassed.

Marie opens her eyes to find toes sticking out of the water, at the far end of the tub. _Her_ toes, and as she looks up with that sinking feeling in her tummy she finds exactly what she expects to see: Jean, standing next to the tub, from this angle practically towering over her. The only surprise is the costuming; the picture-perfect white lab coat, heels and hair bun, along with widescreen tortoise shell frames and what looks to be a rather racy pair of stockings, if one follows them far enough under the skirt.

"I'm sorry." Jean averts her gaze, cheeks already atint with rose. "I guess you went with the easiest solution."

Marie looks down to find her own modest bosom, barely covered, nipples peeking over the soapy waterline. She ignores the fleeting impulse to cover her chest, looking back up with sudden shyness.

"Is it...safe?"

"Oh, honey." Jean's smile is tinged with sadness as she kneels. Her fingers capture one side of Marie's face, in a caress that feels more intimate than any possible fuck.

"Oh..." Tears spring forth as expected, further adding to her humilation. They trail down her cheeks, falling on imaginary water, making a sound that doesn't exist. But this touch? It's real.

It has to be.

She forces the sniffles down, clearing her throat as she leans forward. "Loofah me?"

Her voice is muffled through her knees. Jean just chuckles again.

"My pleasure."

She lets out a sigh at the rough and scratchy feel, shivering in ecstasy as Jean slides the sponge over every inch of her back and shoulders, waist to neck and back again. It's a fresh one with little give and a lot of scratch, requiring Jean to put her own back and arms into the task. Marie's noises are increasingly resembling sexual activity, and she can't even care until she remembers.

"Oh, right."

"What's that?" Jean's motion halts. Marie wiggles her shoulders.

"Well, don't stop or nothin'."

"Sorry." An mischievous note enters Jean's voice as she returns to her labors. "Can I get you a mint julep?"

Marie giggles. "Tempting, but -- I don't know if I want to be test drivin' virtual drugs."

"Fair enough." Jean pauses, apparently to examine her handiwork. "And you are quite pink right now."

A satisfied hum makes its way from Marie's throat. "Just don't stop touchin' me, okay? Don't --" She swallows, abruptly remembering where the conversation had left off.

"This was a bad idea," Jean murmurs. But her touch is gentle, her hands firm and steady. Marie's eyes flutter shut and a tiny moan escapes as thumbs dig deep in her shoulders, massaging away a million little aches and pains. Not for the first time, she finds herself beyond amazement at the seemingly flawless nature of the telepath's illusions.

"Why?" she mumbles, trying not to drool.

"Because I'm weak." The statement is without rancor, a simple truism. "And kind of a hypocrite."

"Huh?" Marie frowns. It's too hard to concentrate, focusing on enjoying the feel of those strong hands on her body. Such as it is.

"It's..." Jean sighs, as though she's still trying to figure it all out. "I feel like this whole concept -- cheating on Scott -- it only kicks in because of the Logan in you. Like if he wasn't there..."

"What?" Marie's face screws up like she's bitten into a lemon. "It...doesn't count?"

"I told you I'm a hypocrite." Jean's voice is quiet, her hands still. "I know it's wrong, and it's horrible. And I don't know if I can help it. And it's just one of all the reasons...I shouldn't be here."

"Can't help you there." Marie tries to ignore the return of that sinking feeling. She's never had it happen directly to her, but she has a sneaking suspicion she's about to be let down easy. At least there was this; some small moment of joy she could have and hold on to, for as long as she lived.

"Not because..." She dreads the answer. "It's not real?"

Jean's face crumbles, and suddenly Marie finds herself enveloped in a tight embrace, practically being crushed. But Jean doesn't seem to care about the water getting all over her clothes, and Marie supposes she can't blame her. After all, it isn't really real. Which only starts up her own sniffles again in response, until they both regain some semblance of control.

"What a mess." Marie is the first one to speak, her voice shaky.

"Don't ever say that." Jean presses in close, lips that whisper hot against her neck. "Don't ever say it's not real."

She can still feel the flutter in her heart. But an unearthly calm is settling over her as she gathers herself and slowly stands, naked and dripping, Jean rising along with her. Marie looks up, hands at her sides, her face a study in scarlet as she holds the older woman's gaze.

"Then I'm weak, too." It's a struggle to keep her lower lip steady, to force the words out as they burn upon her tongue. "And a hypocrite. 'Cause all I want right now? Is for you to fuck me 'til I can't see straight."

"Shush, little one." But Jean is smiling through the blush as she grabs a handy nearby towel, wrapping Marie up in the lap of luxury and what feels like a ridiculously high thread count.

She clings to Jean's shoulder, heedless of the trail of water she leaves behind as they stumble from the bathroom. Kitty's bed lies empty, and Marie chuckles as her internal alarm goes quiescent.

"Admit it. You were thinkin' she'd be there, too --" Marie comes to a halt and stares. "Whoa."

"It --" Jean frowns, eyes widening in recognition. "This is yours."

"Yeah." Marie swallows as they slowly approach the queen-sized four poster. A family heirloom, she'd slept in it from the time she had her own room. It was here she'd nearly put Cody in the ground, instead of in her head. And here as well that she and Jean had met in their shared mental construct, spending untold hours in an uninhibited orgy that lasted mere seconds in the so-called real world. She thinks it technically qualifies as an orgy, despite there being only two physical participants. Who weren't really physical at the time, which is always the point her head starts to hurt just thinking on it.

Jean glances down at the bed, back at her. "You okay?"

"Trust me, you ain't gettin' out that easy. Just..." Marie looks down with a grimace, clutching the towel about her slim figure. "Wonderin' if I actually get to keep my own equipment this time."

"Ah." Jean takes a seat on the edge of the bed, still holding Marie by the hand. The position emphasizes her hips, makes her skirt ride up to expose the tops of her stockings, which are every bit as racy and lacy as anticipated. "Are you cold?"

"No." Her tongue is creeping out over her lips like it's got a mind of its own, her nipples caught in this odd state between hard and not-hard, just irritated enough by fine Egyptian linen to remain at half mast.

"Then show me." Jean's voice is husky, her mouth hanging slightly open. "Show me your body."

An electric thrill zings through her entire midsection and lower, pooling in the space between. It's taken months since their initial encounter for Marie to feel anything but abnormal, starting with the annoying instinctive reflex to pee standing up. With two fully grown men inside of her, equally cemented at polar and opposite ends of the spectrum, there are days it takes every ounce of self-possession at her command not to feel like a stranger in her own flesh. The last weeks have seen her finally relax enough that it's been like coming home, taking unadulterated pleasure in her increasingly skilled explorations of herself. 

Marie peels away the layer of cotton, as slow as she can manage without feeling foolish. It falls away with a whisper, Jean's gaze ravenous with thirst.

"Turn around. Slow," Jean adds, as Marie complies. "Right there..."

She freezes halfway and holds the pose; shivering as she imagines Jean raking her from head to toe with that look of pure, unashamed desire. A brief image flashes in her mind: Jean as teacher, herself over the older woman's knee, her bare bottom in the process of being brought to a flaming state of vermilion. Finally she forces herself into motion again, and when she meets Jean's gaze once more it's enough to knock the breath from her chest, for all that it's not really air they're breathing.

She takes a single step forward. Jean nestles in, arms circling her waist, hands caressing her back and hips and down her thighs, occasionally giving a light squeeze on the way from one place to another. Marie moans and leans far enough forward she topples over, Jean underneath to catch and hold her with tender, loving kisses that quickly grow more savage. She crawls her way up the other woman's body, thrusting her firm young breasts right in Jean's face.

After that, things get a little hazier. Jean seems to spend forever on her right there at chest level, licking and suckling and biting and more, though it's probably no more than ten minutes. That's real world time of course, and some insane obsessive part of her is still trying to calculate the difference when she realizes Jean is turning them both over, finally working further down, caressing the stiff little pencil erasers of her aching nipples as though reluctant to leave them behind. Her lips paint a burning trail over Marie's belly, hands sliding down to part her trembling thighs.

"Hm." Jean's playful tone belies her overly professional attitude. "Everything looks normal so far."

"Quit playin' around, girl --" Marie's plea ends in a gasp as slender fingers trace her outer lips, hot breath stirring the sparse patch of hair just above.

"So pretty." Jean leans down for a long, slow kiss. "And tasty..."

Marie could do this forever. At least she's pretty sure, and that's about the only thing she's still a hundred percent on. Other than the growing amazement at how very like and unlike this all feels, compared to her temporary test drive of Logan's hardware. Then, it seemed as though his healing factor, along with normal male imperative, had made her entire body one gigantic throbbing need. It's still Jean between her legs, staring up into her eyes but now she's buried inside Marie, wet lips and clever tongue nibbling and devouring her until she's panting like she's run a marathon, reaching down to seize the back of Jean's head.

She quickly loses track of the actual orgasms. Again, it's both like and unlike Logan: His ejaculations had each been a distinct event in and of itself, whereas these are more one long unbroken chain. But the greedy, yearning demand to be filled is now a scream, unending in her head as Marie grits her teeth, holding Jean in place. Just the right angle and she can get over, just one more --

"Fuck!" Marie sobs as Jean holds her, gently kissing the soaking mess she's made.

"I know." Jean's expression is torn. "I just..."

Marie hiccups and stifles a giggle. "Go on."

"I know what you said." Jean sighs, laying her head on Marie's stomach. "But I still feel...let's say reluctant. If it involves actual -- you know."

"Actual fucking?" Marie blinks. "What? You think you need a cock to --"

"No!" Jean sits up with worry in her eyes. "Not at all. I'm just saying that even without it, there's this...extra sense of responsibility."

Marie blinks again, before her face screws up into a frown. "You're debating the ethics of poppin' my virtual cherry?"

Jean's blush intensifies further. "Okay. So I'm a fuddy-duddy Mrs. Grundy --"

"Don't _think_ so." Marie's eyes drift a few degrees south, obling the generous cleavage on display. "But it's sweet. Condescending, and totally unnecessary -- but sweet."

"You're still so young." Jean actually sounds on the verge of tears, crawling up her body to hold her tight in both arms. "So beautiful..."

Her lips brush Marie's forehead.

"It would be so easy to break you."

"You're scarin' me." It comes out muffled, her face in Jean's chest. The worst part is everything else she feels, simultaneously choked up and turned all the way on.

"I know." Jean leans down, eyes closed as she rests her chin in the hollow of Marie's neck and shoulder. "Like the song says...I scare myself."

Something feels strange. Stranger than usual.

"Whoa." Marie's eyes widen as they trail the length of Jean's body, taking in the newly revealed sights. The white lab coat and skirt have vanished, replaced with a full-length sheer nightgown made of shimmering black lace, nearly elaborate enough to be called a dress. A matching choker encircles her neck; her hair still up in a formal bun, now sporting a small ornamental stickpin made of gold, in the shape of a bird.

"How come you always get all the nice clothes?" Marie shakes her head in wonder.

She's ready to continue with the snappy patter, do her part to keep the conversational lubricant flowing. But when she looks back up at the face of the woman she can now say she loves, nearly as much as Logan himself, the words die on her lips.

"Do you want this?" Jean holds her cradled in one arm, a veritable queen in black. Marie shudders at the dark fire in those eyes, the sight of that tongue that had given her such pleasure now slathering those slender fingers with a copious coating of spit, down to the bottommost knuckle.

"You know I do." With every fiber of her being she wills it not to be a dream; with all her heart and soul and fractured memories imploring Jean not to abandon her now.

"Then relax."

And Jean is reaching down to tease her twitching entrance, working one finger inside at a speed guaranteed to bring out the homicidal maniac in anyone. Until one becomes two, by which time Marie is letting out undignified little grunts, gritting her teeth so hard a line of drool is running down her chin as her hips hunch up and her thighs spread wider. Jean isn't forcing the issue but it's when she hits a downward angle, goes deeper than ever before that something tears inside but the scream freezes in her throat. Because she's not stopping now, not this close, no matter how hard she has to work for it and it turns out that isn't hard at all when her whole tiny, trembling body becomes one great squeezing muscle, bearing down heaving blowing out all of her synapses in pure white light. Jean pushes deeper, gentle firm as Marie contracts and pulses and clamps down in a gush of slick and sticky goodness oh my _goodness_ \--

She can't breathe. Jean is holding her, murmuring nonsense into her hair, and Marie's crying so hard she can't breathe.

 _Not real,_ she thinks. For a moment, the laugh that threatens is that of a madwoman. Then the hiccups kick in, further distracting her from her imaginary oxygen requirements. Jean's still holding her tight, hand on Marie's shoulder reeking of her own juices and how can any of this be --

"Enough." The quiet command is a warm, soothing blanket over the ugly bruising on her soul. The sensation is a familiar one, and it only takes a moment to recall their first mindmeld, when Jean had eased her momentary tension with the briefest of telepathic touch.

"Sorry --" She hiccups again, caught between laughter and tears.

"Don't ever apologize for your feelings." Jean kisses away the tears, even as Marie wrestles them back down.

Trying for seductive, she manages hopeful. "You're sure you don't want --"

"Trust me." Jean shakes her head, wearing that Mona Lisa smile. "I got exactly what I wanted."

She's still not entirely sure. But it does seem good enough for now, and she burrows in, snuggling hard and deep as she can. And she's just about to doze off in those arms and that wonderfully soft, comfortable bed when Marie falls out of the sky and into the sea.

She emerges in a flurry of spluttering confusion, nearly smacking her head on the faucet before memory kicks in. Her bath has gone decidedly tepid, and she shivers as she stands, grimacing at the lack of clean towels. Then again, it had been her turn to do laundry.

She opens the door wrapped in towels. Kitty's bed is full of Kitty, lying on her stomach, idly poking at a handheld console.

"What happened to skating?"

"He twisted his ankle on the first run." Kitty tosses her game aside and bounces from the bed, dancing from one foot to the other. "Can I --"

"All yours." Marie stands aside, allowing her roommate to zip past her. "Don't know how that boy got past Danger Room Three."

Kitty's voice is lightly muffled by the door. "Still up for Scrabble?"

"Oh, sure." From across the room, Marie stares at her reflection in the mirror. " _Le rêve, et l’amour._ "


	4. Chapter 4

She awakens the following morning bound and determined to make at least one part of her not-a-dream come true. The professor thinks it's a wonderful idea, and immediately arranges for a commercial truck to make the trip back home, along with a professional mover who's been informed of her condition, or enough to do the job. She wears a close-fitting veil with her gloves and bodysuit that cover her from neck to toe, and Mom and Dad are both brave enough to actually hug her, which alone makes it worth the entire trip. It takes less than an hour to dismantle and load the bed, a few more to pack up boxes of books and clothes along with a small selection of useless but highly sentimental knickknacks. Kitty makes the expected but good-natured complaints on her return, mainly revolving around unequal use of floor space.

"You should get your own queen," Marie advises. She leans back in a luxurious stretch, barely reaching the edge of her mattress. "It is _so_ worth it."

"I was lucky to have my own room." Kitty crumples a piece of paper and lobs it in a graceful arc that lands on Marie's stomach. "Now I gotta share it with some spoiled Southern -- bimbo."

"Bimbo?" Marie lets out a snort of disbelief, tossing the wad back to its owner. "You do remember who you're talkin' to, here?"

"Oh, I remember." The look of determination on Kitty's face indicates the big guns are being brought into play. "You're telling me you got no girl talk? Whatsoever?"

"Well..." 

"I knew it!" Kitty pumps her fist and bounces nearly a foot off her bed, tucking her legs underneath and leaning forward. "So? Spill."

"I hate it when people say this, but --" Marie sighs and gives in. "It's complicated."

"Was it after -- your powers?" Kitty looks like she's tiptoeing through a verbal minefield. "I know you don't like that word. But I don't know --"

"It's okay." Marie shakes her head, abruptly uncomfortable. "I...I don't wanna say."

"No -- no, that's fine." Kitty's voice is low and reassuring, the tones that sooth frightened animals. "Like you said -- it's okay. Whatever you want to talk about -- or not."

Marie has to laugh at the memories provoked by that statement. It comes out a shade more bitter than intended.

"I..." She gnaws her lip, calculating her words with careful precision. "I slept with a girl."

She looks over to find Kitty hasn't disappointed her. She didn't think eyes could get that big.

"It was...kinda frustrating." The resulting look confuses her a moment, before her thoughts begin to clarify. "Not like that."

Kitty looks doubtful. "No?"

"No. It was all kinds of satisfyin'. Just..." Marie trails off, uncertain.

"Well, that was the only reason I even asked." The note of genuine apology in Kitty's voice confirms her usual scrupulous level of honesty. Sometimes, Marie doesn't think this girl could tell a lie if her life depended on it. "You know, 'cause -- seems like a bit of a problem. I mean, regardless of the parts."

"I know, right?" Rogue sighs and resumes staring at the ceiling. "Trust me. I've thought plenty on it."

A light rustle; the sound of actual fidgeting. "Like how?"

Marie chuckles bitterly. "You know what a dental dam is?"

Kitty looks over with a frown. "Is this some weird kink thing?"

"Kind of." Marie tries to sound apologetic for the grim change in direction. "Just look up the history of STD's sometime. And don't pack a lunch."

"But there's got to be a way." Kitty's natural engineering instinct tends to become righteously offended at problems with no apparent solution. Marie shakes her head.

"I can't even have kids." Her fingers creep over her beltline, finding the gap between jeans and shirt, tracing patterns on her stomach. "My eggs -- probably kill any sperm on contact. So in vitro's not even an option."

Kitty is silent for a moment before letting out a sigh.

"I would say I'm sorry, but -- I don't want to feel sorry for you." The younger girl's voice is quiet but firm. "I just want to be your friend."

"Yeah?" Slowly, an idea begins to take form. "How friendly?"

Kitty sounds confused. Also vaguely suspicious. "What you got percolating in that noggin, now?"

"Well..." She does her best to sound nonchalant. "All that girl talk got me just a little hot and bothered."

"Oh, yeah." Kitty rolls her eyes. "That was real sexy stuff."

Marie ignores her, resolute. "And normally I'd be all polite and wait 'til you were asleep before I -- went and hogged the bathtub for an hour."

Kitty covers up a cough, her cheeks turning pink. "Yeah?"

"So..." Marie follows her instincts, going for a light and teasing tone. "You wanna help?"

"What do you mean?" Kitty's trepidation doesn't sound as if it's entirely of the unknown. "I mean, we can't -- even if --"

"I know." Marie curls up on her side, facing the other girl with an innocent expression. "But you could...join in. Give me something nice to look at."

Kitty's eyes get big, and bigger still. 

"And...you could talk to me." Rogue's fingers come to rest on the top button of her shirt, her eyes questioning. "You mind?"

Kitty shakes her head, eyes round as dinner plates.

"Well, then." Rogue smiles and stretches, arching her back as she lolls on the comfort of her favorite bed. "Since y'all don't object -- I'm just gonna get a little naked here."

"Damn, girl." Kitty fumbles with her water bottle. Her eyes never leave Marie's as she takes a long, hard drink, wiping her mouth afterward. "I still ain't gay -- but you are one seriously sexy thing."

"It's not gay." Marie gives her a friendly grin, letting her shirt fall to the floor. "Guys do this all the time."

"Like I'm worried about that." Kitty scoffs even as her eyes descend. "I just don't want the whole school knowing my business. Or who I'm choosing to get busy with. Or -- around."

"Only 'cause I can't touch you." Marie can feel her own excitement at Kitty's hungry gaze. It only increases the teasing factor as she pulls off jeans and underwear together, wriggling free at the last. "Nothing to worry about, right?"

"God." She's never seen Kitty blush this badly. "Make me sound like some backwoods Bible thumper."

"You're looking pretty Amish to me, right now." Marie strikes a centerfold's pose, modest in both demeanor and the amount of actual flesh on display. Her heart is a hammer in her chest, every nerve end screaming at her lack of protection, the reality of another living person within two strides of her. But Kitty is safe; knows better than to be anything but safe.

"Fine." Kitty unbuttons her jeans with a defiant look, squirming out of them without showing much of anything. Her shirt comes down enough to conceal the underwear Marie had only caught a brief glimpse of. "Perv."

"No judgin', now." Marie giggles and writhes and goes into a stretch, arching her back as she runs her hands over her chest, down the valley of her abdomen to open her thighs up wide before turning and leaning back with her knees raised high, exposing her flowering pussy. She watches Kitty's face as the other girl swallows, fingers unconsciously gripping at her sheets, grinding her hips into the mattress.

"Ain't fair." Marie can feel her breath come heavier, struggling not to sound weak or whiny.

"I know." Kitty shakes her head, looking horribly torn. "I do wish I could help you more --"

"Don't mean that." Marie's fingers graze the light patch of fur surrounding her most intimate flesh, eyes sliding down to Kitty's tight and skimpy underwear. From this angle she can barely make out the design, a print bearing colorful cartoon dragons.

"Come on," she whispers. "Show me."

"This is so weird." Kitty's shaky complaint rings decidely hollow as she rolls back and lifts her legs. "Don't look --"

"But that's the whole point..." Rogue's mouth falls open, a sigh of pleasure emerging at the sheer aesthetic beauty of the sight before her. Kitty sits crosslegged, her back to Marie, hands clutching the bottom of her shirt.

Before apparent second thoughts can kick in the shirt is off, tossed into the room's far corner. Marie's hand falls still as she takes in the view. She's not sure, but it looks like Kitty is trembling.

"It's okay." Marie pitches her voice low and soothing. "You're okay, right?"

Kitty doesn't answer. For a moment Marie thinks she's gone too far, made a terrible mistake. Except the giggle that comes from the other bed sounds anything but traumatized.

"How come you're so casual about it?" Kitty's plaintive query is hesitant, as if she doesn't want to be accused of casting aspersions. "I mean -- I'm not saying you're a --"

"What was that you were sayin' earlier?" Marie cocks an eyebrow, one hand modestly covering herself. Kitty glances back over her shoulder, and as she watches Marie slowly moves her hand to one side, feeling her flesh gently being pulled open, peeled apart.

Kitty shakes her head, with another nervous laugh. "Wow."

"Lotta practice." Marie runs her eyes down that spritely figure, eyeing the slight swell of hips below, the barest exposure of actual buttocks slightly concealed by the rumpled sheets they're perched on top of. "You know. In my head?"

"Not to sound mean." Kitty swallows, mesmerized by the slow motion of Marie's fingers, the sight of her opening herself up for inspection. "I just kind of figured you had a lot of practice...uh --"

"Jillin' off?" Marie joins her in a snort. "Let's just say I know what I like."

"Still working on that over here," Kitty mumbles. She does a sort of half-turn around, stretching out on her side with one arm over her chest, her other hand still obscuring her crotch. "So, uh...guess you 'know thyself' pretty well?"

"Gawd." Marie brings her fingers to her mouth, inhaling deep and applying a liberal coat of saliva. "You know that was probably just Socrates' way of tellin' everybody to eff off."

Kitty giggles, sounding moderately scandalized.

"I looked at some porn. At a friend's house -- not here." Kitty looks horrified at the thought.

"Perish the thought." Marie reaches back down, humming deep in her throat as she works on finding the optimal approach vector. "Most of it's -- uh! -- pretty bad."

"Well -- figure I want to have _some_ idea what I'm doing..." Kitty's staring again, looking alternately worried and hypnotized. "Geez. Feel like I should be taking notes."

"Rule one." Marie holds her gaze as she suckles her fingers again, easing them further inside with a moan. "There's no such thing as too much lube."

The arm covering Kitty's chest has crept downward, both hands working busily between her legs. Marie only notices through peripheral vision, staring as she is at the perky jiggling now revealed up top. Her mouth waters with the urge to bite down.

"Take your time," she urges, slowing her own pace. Except it's getting harder to resist the urge to succumb to insanity, to just fucking leap from the bed to pounce and devour and have her way with this hot little number. Just like last time she can't even tell how much of this burning, almost painful intensity is Logan with his lifetimes of instinct, or merely her own desperation and confusion.

As much as she'd like to, Marie doesn't succumb to insanity. After all, that would mean she'd have to stop what she's doing right now. Which is producing quite excellent results, thank you very much, and it's only getting better as she continues to encourage Kitty through word and deed alike, coaxing her up and over the rollercoaster of her first orgasm in front of another person. Her roommate's face is crimson, flush spreading down the front of her chest as Marie waxes most eloquent on all her favorite current fantasies.

" _Logan?_ " Kitty's grimace is one of equal attraction and repulsion. "He's like probably old enough to -- oh! -- be your g-great-grandpa!"

"You're just jealous," Marie manages, her breath coming shorter. "'Cause he don't stop -- for _nothin'_ \--"

Kitty's lying on her stomach, ass in the air. Facing Marie, which cuts down on the view, but such is life. As is the absolute epic come she can feel swirling inside, ballooning into a tornado.

"He'd fuck me from behind," she pants. "I'd be just like that. Just like you. And I'd be goin' down on her --"

"Uh!" Kitty's hips grind in tight circles. She's not even looking at Marie any more, eyes clenched tight, her face screwed up in a near rictus of pain. 

"No, _you_. I'd be goin' down on you." Marie nods, settling into the home stretch. "And her. Both of you...you on top of her, pussies rubbin' together and I'm lickin' 'em both and -- and --"

The scream is trapped inside of her; coming out in a high-pitched keen as she fucks herself into a froth and frenzy, fingers going deeper than ever before when her body clamps down like a fist, just like with Jean, and suddenly these huge, rhythmic gushes of clear fluid are _squirting_ , from _her_ , drenching her entire bedspread and the floor between them. Kitty's coming down from her own high as her eyes open and widen at the sight, going full huge as one last jet of liquid flies through the air, hitting the floor with an audible splat.

"Ho--" Kitty sounds in awe as Marie's body slowly descends and melts into the sheets, faint tremors fading away. "Holy geez."

Marie manages a whimper in return. A quiet snicker reaches her ears.

"Or, I guess -- holy G-spot, Batman."

"Oh mah Gawd..." Marie groans, her entire body a limp, wet noodle. "I think I broke somethin'."

Kitty giggles, sounding equally embarrassed. "I'm just glad it's your turn to do laundry."


	5. Chapter 5

The aftermath is thankfully less awkward than expected. Marie's just glad she'd remained sane enough in the throes of passion to keep from naming Jean as the woman of her dreams, which would definitely have been flying too close to the sun. Bad enough Kitty now has something juicy on her to tease with. Even if the whole school has known her feelings for Logan since they arrived together, there's nothing like another teenage girl to have that way of honing in and personalizing their barbs, making you question everything you thought you knew.

Both the real and virtual Logan serve as drill instructors in her ongoing quest to conquer level Two, the latter's role being mainly confined to keeping her focused on training and her mind off of sex. Which is always the first and foremost thing on it whenever Logan's around, giving her orders, working up a sweat alongside her in that tight-fitting pleather uniform. It's especially fun when he threatens all manner of dire consequences in the event of failure, until she's near nuclear trying to suppress her body's natural reactions, and the only thing that drives her forward is her own determination, spurred on by the voices in her head whenever her resolve may fail or falter. Logan and Erik may disagree on everything from politics to beer, but they're absolutely united in their desire to see her do well.

"So how about it, doc?" She gives her shoulder an experimental wiggle. "Am I cleared?"

"I'd give it one more week. Not just to be on the safe side," Jean adds. "I just think it's best, when you're still in the...growing phase."

Marie shrugs, doing her best to ignore the sting. It's not like she does it on purpose, but Jean always manages to make her feel like a child, every time she's here. For better or worse.

"I know how frustrating it must be." Jean's hand is warm on her back even through the paper-thin gown, the usual layer of latex. "You've been working very hard."

"Maybe too hard." It takes a lot to admit, between her own pride and that of her men. Either of them.

Jean nods, but her mind seems oddly elsewhere as she walks over to the counter. At least she's wearing the heels again.

"I notice you and Kitty are getting along well."

"What's that --" Marie clears her throat. "Yeah. She's got my back." 

"We all do." The admonishment comes as a friendly reminder, at worst. Jean's back is still turned, that sense of distraction still hanging in the air.

"You do this for anyone else?" She almost regrets the delicate probe, taking the plunge before she loses the nerve. "Counseling?"

"Hardly." Jean chuckles. "Like I said -- I'm not qualified."

"There you go again." Marie shakes her head as she admires the view from behind. "Sellin' yourself short." 

"I wouldn't say that."

Marie frowns. Something is different in that quiet voice, underneath the words themselves, their shape in the air.

"Because it's amazing..."

Marie swallows as Jean turns and smiles.

"It's amazing what you can do."

Black fire rises in her eyes; striding forward sleek and sinuous, the dark queen of Marie's dreams.

"When you put your mind to it."

Jean peels away a single latex glove.

Fingers come to rest upon her exposed forearm.

Her world comes to a halt.

"H--" Marie gapes at the impossible. Jean's hand is solid, unmoving. As real as anything else from the moment she entered this room, and suddenly the bottom is near to dropping out from under her.

"Parlor tricks." The white skirt falls away with a gesture, leaving matching stockings with garters, underwear with just a touch of lace. Jean pulls open the lab coat and spills right out of it, her white pushup bra completing the ensemble.

"You and Kitty were awfully loud, you know." The telepath sounds conversational as she leans closer. Marie's senses are on overload at the nearness of skin, the warmth of their bodies together. She keeps expecting that familiar horrible feeling to start up and it doesn't, just like in her dreams and her heart stops a beat, a lump rising in her throat.

"You're not dead." Soft lips brush against her forehead, hot enough to burn. "You're not dreaming."

Marie know that on some level, she still can't believe it. It's why she doesn't mind that Jean proceeds right from there, without even taking the other glove off. The difference between them in size seems greater than ever before, and it's that damn feeling like a child again that emboldens Marie to go on the offensive, practically trying to devour Jean's mouth as her clumsy, aggressive fingers delve inside to find her teacher sopping, ripe and ready.

"Here..." And Jean is climbing up on the table with her, leaning back with a knowing smile.

The smell is literally intoxicating, like Logan's heightened senses are once more pushing up from the deepest levels of their shared subconscious. Her neck hurts in this position, and probably more than it would in that perfectly constructed mental playground. Rogue

( _That's me, sugah'_ )

ignores the pain, pressing on in an unrelenting attempt to return each and every last favor, in spades. Her jaw aches and her tongue goes numb and still she pushes them both to their limits, Jean's throaty cries echoing throughout what feels like a soundproof bubble surrounding them. It's only when those trembling thighs force themselves closed, Jean holding her by the hair and murmuring _No more, no more_ that Marie finally relents, crawling up into that familiar embrace to sob her heart out.

Thankfully, it doesn't last. The crying, that is. Because as spent and exhausted as Jean is, her control over Marie's powers never wavers in the slighest. Marie finally musters up the energy to move and poor Jean does everything she can but somehow, unbelievably so, her oral skills can't quite get Marie over. It's not until desperation sets in and Jean slips one latex-covered, industrially lubricated finger inside her hungry clasping cunt

( _Language!_ , Erik snaps, with a gasp.)

( _You love it,_ she snarls back. _Now shut up and take it --_ )

another slowly worming up the tightness of her ass, that Marie throws her head back, so hard it hits the exam table with a loud thunk. Doesn't matter; nothing matters because she's coming so hard she can't fucking _think_ , can't make a sound except these long, high-pitched panting whines like she's dying, being flayed alive until her shrieks resound in their echo chamber, every last nerve ending ablaze with agonizing delight.

She comes out of the haze to find Jean over by the sink, washing up.

"Whoa." Marie reaches down, giving her abdomen a careful prod. Everything seems in the right place.

_Indeed._ Erik sounds equally exhausted, and more than a little smug. _You were saying?_

Jean approaches with a damp cloth, and the old fear rises despite the events of only moments before. But the cool touch on her thighs, the sorely used bits between them, only soothes away her concerns. Marie sighs at the rough fabric, wincing as it brushes her clit.

"The spirit is willing." Jean smiles, planting a gentle kiss on the pulsing, swollen organ. "But the flesh is spongy and bruised."

"Damn." Her whisper turns to a whimper.

"The sad limitations of reality." Darkness flares once more, in the depths of Jean's eyes. 

"I'll take it." Tears blossom in her own, eternal gratitude and more.

But Jean shakes her head. 

"The professor knows."

Marie blinks in astonishment. Her next immediate reflex is to grab her gown and hold it to her chest. As if Xavier is the Great and Powerful Oz, hovering near the ceiling to peer down upon them.

"How --"

Jean raises one eyebrow.

"Right." Marie tries not to feel overly stupid. Her ears are burning as she scrambles into her clothes, ignoring the privacy screen in the corner. 

Jean captures her eyes as she finishes buttoning up her shirt. "We can't do this again."

"I --" Marie swallows, takes a deep breath and nods. Whatever the reason, it's a _fait accompli_.

"But I have something for you."

Jean steps forward. Takes Marie in her arms once more; leaning down so their foreheads touch.

_A part of me._

Her mind opens.

Then fills with light.


	6. Chapter 6

When the professor summons her, she's more than ready. Except nothing could have prepared her for the look on his face.

"My dear, I could not be more delighted at what you have achieved." He holds her hands in his, gazing warmly up at her from his wheelchair. "Regardless of how...unorthodox your methods."

She ducks her head, powerless against the flush of embarrassment. Xavier is still speaking.

"But it must be said that Logan is...an interesting case." Despite his gentle tone, Marie can sense the stern, uncompromising core within. "I wouldn't want to see the two of you flaunting a relationship in front of the other students. It would set a bad example." 

Marie sighs, and nods. She's calculating how long until she can move out when the professor continues.

"Of course, I gave this same speech to Scott and Jean. Once upon a time." His eyes twinkle. "Now, if you were to actually... _marry_ \--"

It's barely twenty seconds later that she's running from the office, down the hall at breakneck speed, taking the stairs two and three at a time. Students gasp and shriek and hurl themselves aside, staring after Marie in her wake. She doesn't stop until she hits the garage, breathing deep from exertion as she flings open the door.

"Hey!" Logan glares at her over his bike, face smeared with grease as he crouches on the floor behind it. From the look of things, he's just about done with the tuneup; ready to take off as soon as the final bolt is tightened.

"Hey yourself." She watches him carefully as she approaches, leaning over the seat, her face right up in his. Logan returns her unblinking stare with a puzzled frown.

"Close your eyes."

Said eyes narrow in suspicion. "What for?"

Marie smiles. "Got a surprise." 

She can tell he's close to jerking away when her lips meet his. But her timid attempt grows quickly bold, holding the back of his head and pulling him down to meet her as she gives it her all, burning the kiss into her memory as the tears flow, free and clear.

He clears his throat as she pulls back, silently demanding his response.

"Um."

"Just tell me if I got a chance." Marie fights back another sniffle. "Or I swear on a stack of Bibles, I am gonna slap you silly. And if I don't --"

"Marie."

"If I don't," she continues, clinging to him with every scrap of strength at her command. "Then you better find _someone_ , okay? And they better not have a problem with me doin' this, or I -- well, there's gonna be trouble. You got that?"

"Marie."

The roughness of his hand on her cheek is like a benediction.

"I ain't gonna be fallin' into bed with you tomorrow. Not next week, maybe not even next year. But..." He exhales, scratching the back of his neck. "Give it a few years, so I don't feel like Humbert Humbert, and..."

"Who knows what could happen?" She lets out a shaky laugh, her heart settling back down from its rapid, frightened canter. "Just don't make me wait forever."

She can feel the tension in his arms, spreading throughout his entire body as he holds her close. "You sure you know what you're getting into?"

"I'm sure." And Marie hugs him, so tight she thinks she may snap his metal spine in two. "'Cause I already got you in me."

She breathes in the rich, sweaty scent of musk and grime; for the first time since leaving home, hopeful for the future.

In her heart the Phoenix nestles, a shining star its final gift.

"And I ain't goin' nowhere."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Danger Room totally must have been the inspiration for the Ripping Friends' Pain Machine.
> 
> Also, because I'm obsessive enough to check these things: Yes, the airdate of "Amazon Women In the Mood" lines up close enough.
> 
> Even more soap opera this time around, but that's the way it goes. Choose either sequel to the original as you see fit, or as Peggy Hill might say: "Porky no las dose."


End file.
